


161 - Van Loves Ya, But You're Not Easily Convinced

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 08:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17403482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “Van worships you?” and “the girl and van are good friends and she has feelings for him but is too insecure to think he’d like her back so when van tells her he loves her she gets mad bc she thinks he’s playing her and he has to convince her that he isn’t lying” and “van really falling for the reader because he doesn’t usually meet girls who love wrestling as much as him”





	161 - Van Loves Ya, But You're Not Easily Convinced

The world was filled with good and bad things you could not comprehend. Black holes. The spooky accuracy of horoscopes. How Foo Fights got so popular. Lupita Nyong’o’s ethereal otherworldly beauty. Complicated, logic-defying, confusing things that only served to freak you out and unsettle you entirely. Van was adding himself to the list. 

"Why... are you not sayin' anything?" he asked. Because you didn't believe him, that's why. You didn't understand him. What he was saying was impossible. 

"I... No... This can't..." Fragmented sentences trying to communicate fragmented thoughts. You stood up and began to pace. Then, you walked away. Van followed you around the side of his house and out to your car. 

"Y/N," he said, holding your door open when you went to close it after climbing in the front seat. "Where are you going?" 

"Home." You could answer that. 

"You are home. That's what I'm saying. You belong here, with me." Your thoughts were too many in number and combined they made a loud white noise in your head. Static. You couldn't think. Van crouched down on the road, between you and the door. "Y/N, look at me." You held the steering wheel, knuckles going white. Staring straight ahead, you begged yourself to not be like this, not to freak out. You would finally have what you always wanted if you could just manage to not freak out. "I know you like me. Why are you... What are you doing?" 

Even if you could articulate what you were feeling, thinking, it would do nothing to calm you. You were in no state to drive and when you went non-verbal, Van pulled you out of the car and took you back inside. He sat you on the couch with a cup of tea and gave you time. Whether you wanted to or not, you melted into his side and he put his arm around you. After half an hour of television, you tried to speak. 

"I don't... I don't believe you," you whispered. 

"Don't believe me 'bout what?" Van asked. In his head, it was already done. You were already a couple.

"That... you love me... like that." 

Van's grip on you tightened and you looked up to see him smirking. "Well... I guess I'll just have to prove it, yeah?" 

Van McCann, your friend for years, loving you like you loved him was incomprehensible.

…

Good with words, that was the first method Van used to try to convince you that he wasn't fucking about. He had no reason to be mean like that but your brain, in its inability to accept a good thing, told you that he was. It didn't matter how many songs he wrote for you (thirteen in three weeks), how many letters he poured his soul into (eight in a month), or how many text messages he sent on a daily basis (average score of thirty, excluding replies to yours), you remained sceptical.

Van tried to proactively involve himself in your life more. He'd show up before you finished work so he could joke around with your coworkers. He added all your friends on social media and started inside jokes with them. He invited your family over to dinner at his house. The ribbons that he had been weaving between your world and his slowly started to tie together, pulling each universe closer and closer. Van asked you why you thought he'd do that if he was only going to leave or if he was only playing around. There was no logical answer and you knew that. Regardless, you stayed uncertain.

The gifts started to arrive then. Van was spending a lot of money very quickly. Almost daily there was a knock on your door and a delivery. Sometimes flowers; you were running out of vases. Sometimes little things ordered off obscure online stores. But, as time went on, the presents got bigger. More expensive. More guilt-inducing. A top of the range record player. A Mui Mui coat that cost thousands of dollars. The delivery people couldn't take the packages back and Van refused to as well. On a cold Sunday morning, you sat holding the jacket, the most beautiful thing you owned and cried. Van called demanding brunch and when you walked into the café with the jacket wrapped around you, his face lit up and your knees went weak.

Over poached eggs and toast and smashed avocado and pumpkin seeds, Van told you he'd made a list. The list existed only in his head because each item was so important to him that he couldn't possibly forget. As he recited it, you could feel the doubt slipping. Van had catalogued every single thing about you that he loved. There were details so small that you thought nobody noticed. There were mannerisms you'd not even noticed. It was evident, even to you, that Van saw you as a complete and perfect human. It wasn't as though he had internally represented you as something more than you were. He didn't not see flaws, he just saw them as the cracks and scars that serve to provide contrast to the good. He knew you. And he loved you.

Sitting irresolute in the café you told yourself to trust him.

…

Van was flicking through television stations. He'd made you dinner and dessert, and you had spent twenty minutes consoling him when the top of the cheesecake split. He was still on his mission to make you completely his. You were almost there.

"Van, it's amazing,"

"Not good enough," he mumbled. It was the best cheesecake you'd ever eaten, and it was the only dessert a boy had ever cooked for you. It could have melted in a pile of mush and you would have loved it. 

You were laying on the couch with him, bundled up under a blanket. Falling asleep, you caught a flash of The Undertaker. "Wait!" you called. Van went back. "This." 

"Wrestling?" Van asked. You nodded into his chest. 

"Used to have a crush on the Hardy Boyz when I was little. Then I loved Edge, and also Trish Stratus. The Undertaker was my family's favourite, and my brother's liked The Rock, Stone Cold Steve Austin, and Rey Mysterio," you told him. 

"Babe. I'm going to need you to sit up." Van's voice was serious. You moved and he took both your hands in his. His stare was intense and your heart started to beat faster. "You're telling me that you like wrestling?" You nodded. Of course you did. "Like... Proper like wrestling?" 

"Is this proper wrestling? But, yeah. Mum got us all the action figures and one of the rings that made sounds when you hit it. My brother stole a chair from school 'cause it was one of them fold up ones like the ones they hit each other with,"

"You... This is amazing. This is the best thing I've ever heard," Van said, his intensity morphing into bubbly excitement. 

"That I like wrestling?"

"Girls don't like wrestling!" Van said. 

"I'm gonna go ahead and come back to that casual sexism... But, yes, I do" 

"I love wrestling! I love you! This is so good! Did you ever play the game? We can play the game?" You pushed him back onto the couch with a roll of the eyes. Cuddled back up you returned your gaze to the television. The Dudley Boyz versus APA. 

"I would win, and you're a bad loser," you said.

"I fuckin' love you, Y/N," Van replied, chuckling. "This is going right to the top of the list, yeah?"

"Okay." 

…

When Van opened the curtains in the bedroom, the bright orange moon became visible. If it caught Van's attention, he said nothing about it. He did what he always did and leant on the windowsill and blew smoke into the cold night air. You pulled blankets closer around you.

"Blood moon," you said. Van looked over at you then up into the sky. "That's meant to be bad luck,"

"Why?"

"Don't know. Sign of the apocalypse or something. Some people think it just symbolises change,"

"Change like how you're still wearin' clothes now but won't be in a second?"

You groaned and hid under the covers. "You're disgusting."

Van laughed, finished his cigarette quickly, and closed the windows. The curtains remained open; your interest in the moon enough for Van to let it in all night. Under the blankets with you, in the warm darkness, you let Van pull you close.

"Have I put your hips on the list?" he whispered. You shrugged. "Love 'em,"

"Too curvy," you mumbled in reply.

"No. No such thing. Love these," he said as his hands shook your hips, "and these," as his fingers raked down your thighs, "and…" His sentence was cut short when his lips found your neck. He continued on a tour of all the parts of you that he loved. All of you. Hips, thighs, shoulders, knees, fingertips, eyelashes, tummy, all of you. You giggled as he purposefully tickled and went quiet when his head pressed against yours. He was still talking; saying he liked your height and hair and hands. You kissed him and he kissed back, and the talking stopped for the night.

…

"This is a really, really stupid idea." Those words had been said out loud at least eight times in ten minutes. You were sitting on the couch, legs on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. Bondy was next to you, and when you looked at him for help, for support, he simply shrugged. Chaos. Destruction. Mayhem. It was going to happen and he wasn't about to stop it. Van dragged the table away from you, moving it to the other side of the room. He returned and kissed your forehead. 

"Sorry, love. Need room." 

You watched as he and Larry dragged every pillow and blanket out of bedrooms and cupboards, and put them on the lounge room floor. Van stood on the arm of the couch you were on, Larry on the second. They were about to wrestle. 

"Wait!" you called. Everyone froze, waiting. You ran from the room, returning quickly with a present wrapped for Christmas. You handed it up to Van. "Okay, it's early, but if you're going to do this, we're going to do it right." Van grinned and tore the paper off. He cackled with laughter at the replica WWE World Champion belt. He went to put it on but you grabbed it from his hands. "You've not won yet," you told him. You returned to your place next to Bondy. He began his commentary of the match. 

"Iiiiiiiiiiiiiin one corner we have Larryyyyyyyyyyyyyy Lou! World Lightweight Champion. Defending his title. A lot of people are here to back Lou tonight," Bondy called. He paused to imitate the sound of a cheering crowd. You clapped and whistled. "Aaaaaaaaaaand in the other corner of the ring is the worst thing to come out of Llandudno, and that's saying a lot, it's Vannnnnnnn the Man McCannnnnnnn!" Van looked at Bondy.

"Mate? I was born in Cheshire?" he said. Bondy shrugged, then made a 'ding ding ding' sound.

Van launched himself off the couch and literally made the jump to pull Larry onto the ground. They half wrestled, half acted out punches and stomps, like the WWE stars they grew up watching. 

"At this early stage it's hard to tell where to place ya bets," Bondy said, holding the television remote like a microphone. "Y/N. Who's gonna come out victorious?" he asked, holding the remote to you.

"Van's got them long legs, which is an advantage. Larry's pain threshold is higher though,"

"How does McCann's girlfriend know about Lou's pain tolerance, we'll never know. But what chance does he have of winning if he's own manager isn't placing her money on him,"

"I didn't say that!" you squeaked. Van and Larry weren't listening. They were a mess of limbs and bedding. Bondy continued his commentary and when the 'match' started to drag on, Van's endurance became a deciding factor. Larry was already panting when Van managed to pin him on the ground with an arm behind his back.

"Tap out! Tap out!" Van yelled at him, laughing. Larry shook his head. Bondy got to the ground, his head on the floor next to Larry's.

"This is it, ladies and gentlemen! The moment! What we are here for! Can Larry Lau come back from this defeat?!" It went quiet, then Larry breathed out the last of the air he'd be saving in his lungs. He hit the floor and Bondy repeated the action three times. Van sprung up and jumped on the coffee table. "And the new WWE World Champion is Vannnnnnnnnnnnn McCann!"

You clipped the belt around Van's waist as he laughed. He stepped off the table and pulled you close before you could move away, kissing you. "Proud of me?" he asked when his lips were free. You nodded and smiled at him. He held your face in his hands, running his thumbs across your cheeks. "Good. I love the belt. Best thing I've ever got. Thank you." 

"Yeah, Y/N, I want one," Larry added, still on the floor. He'd pulled pillows closer to him, attempting to find comfort for his aching body. 

You would have replied to Larry, said yes, but Van was still holding you. He was looking at you for no reason other than he loved you, thought you were beautiful, appreciated your entire existence. And finally, that was beginning to be comprehensible. Finally, you believed him.


End file.
